


Newmann Drabbles

by skeleton_twins



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Doctor/Patient, Family Drama, Family Member Death, Fluff, Hermann's dorky way of flirting, Lars Gottlieb Being a Dick, M/M, Marriage, Medical Examination, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Nail Polish, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Temporary Amnesia, he wears the prettiest dresses and you can't change my mind, hermann wears dresses y'all just cowards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 16,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleton_twins/pseuds/skeleton_twins
Summary: series of newmann drabbles I've written on tumblr





	1. Temporary Amnesia

Newton gets injured. Hermann isn't there to witness how he injured himself, only the aftereffects, and maybe it was from Newton doing something he shouldn’t be doing on Hermann’s ladder (like covering his entire chalkboard with kaiju drawings) and ends up slipping and hitting his head. The reasoning behind the injury doesn’t necessarily matter, it’s the side effects, the fact that Newton gets temporary amnesia where he forgets a lot of things, mainly that he’s Hermann’s husband.

So maybe Newton doesn’t remember the last couple years. He remembers the kaiju, he remembers the shatterdome, and he definitely remembers his strong feelings for Hermann. Maybe the last thing he does remember is confessing his feelings to Hermann in a putting it all out on a line sort of way (he doesn’t remember what happened afterward though, how Hermann kisses him with every bit of passion that he usually reserves for their arguments or how he whispers “I love you” against his Newton’s lips) but Newton can only imagine how exactly that conversation went given that Hermann’s avoiding him like the plague (reluctantly on Hermann’s part. Hermann’s simply following the doctor’s orders not to overwhelm Newton with the truth). So Newton gets the picture, even though it’s the wrong one, he thinks that he’s ruined their friendship and now Hermann will barely look at him.

Someone, of course, slips up and Newton overhears a particularly interesting conversation with Hermann and Tendo in the mess hall. Newton doesn’t mean to eavesdrop if Hermann knew he’d get an earful of how unbecoming his actions are, but Newton’s interest is piqued when it appears Hermann Gottlieb is getting consoled about something. It’s a rare sight. Honestly Newton’s surprised that Hermann hasn’t batted away the hand resting on his shoulder, instead, Hermann’s head is ducked down and eyes cast aside, gaze fixed on the floor.

“Heard about the accident. Must be rough, how’s your husband?”

Newton, at first, thinks this must be a prank because the last time he has checked, Hermann Gottlieb was  _not_ married. If anyone would know that, Newton would be the first to know. but then Hermann’s response shatters whatever hope Newt had about this being a joke.

“He’s…It’s been difficult. Not being there for him. I want to but-” Hermann quits mid-sentence, but Tendo just nods sympathetically.

Newton drops his tray, appetite’s suddenly gone. the whole room’s spinning from this revelation, his head throbbing, pulse racing matching the beat of his footsteps. And yeah maybe most would see his fleeing as cowardly but he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. And he retreats back to the lab, dropping into his chair near his desk and covering his face with his hands, trying to exhale but his breath is caught in his throat, along with a sob that leaves him choking.

The love of his life is married to  _someone else._

“Newton?”

Newton quickly wipes his face, forcing a smile as he meets Hermann’s concerned gaze in the doorway of their lab. “Hey, Hermann.”

“Are you alright?” Hermann asks as he enters the lab, carefully keeping his distance a few feet away from Newton’s desk and Newton’s chest hurts from it because he’s the one that drove this wedge between them. Hermann’s clearly still uncomfortable with his feelings.

“Peachy.” Newt lies and he must not be too convincing because Hermann’s eyebrow raises skeptically.

“Really?” Hermann dryly. “Because it looks to me you’re seconds away from having a panic attack.”

“You know about those?”

Hermann appears flustered, “I-I. Yes. I do. You’ve mentioned it before, you must not remember.”

“Oh…” Newton struggles to remember just when this conversation had occurred despite his doctor’s order not to force exactly this, to let the memories come back naturally.

It’s silent once more. Hermann doesn’t look at him, doesn’t seem like he’s even able to meet with his gaze. Newton winces as he realizes Hermann’s current situation. He’s stuck here in Hong Kong with a lab partner that confessed his love for the man while his own husband is sick someplace far away that Hermann doesn’t even get the chance to visit. If Newton had  _known_. If Hermann hadn’t kept the fact that’s he’s married a secret, Newton would have never admitted his feelings for the man. He would have just bottled them up, shoved them deep down and move on…Or at the very least would have tried.

Regardless this is one more thing Hermann doesn’t need on his plate. The world’s ending. Newton’s feelings aren’t important. He needed to fix this.

Newton swallows around the lump in his throat, ignoring the pain. “Hermann, listen…I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know, dude.”

Hermann cocks his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed, “Newton, what on earth are you apologizing for?”

Newton tries not to think about how cute Hermann looks, like a confused puppy. He shakes the thought from his head.

Focus.

Feelings of frustration build in his chest. He can taste the bitterness against the back of his throat.

“I didn’t know that you married! I would never have had said anything about…about-” Newton flushes at the memory. “You  _know_!”

Hermann’s eyes widen, face pales and stricken.

“I’m sorry about making things weird between us. Just…Just forget I said anything, alright? I’m sorry about your husband too. Something happened, right? I…If you need someone to talk to…I’m here, I mean if you want to talk, just an offer. Obviously, you don’t have to…Your choice, dude-”

“ _Oh, Newton_ …”

Newt’s head snaps up so fast that the room spins and his head pounds. He’s never heard Hermann spoke his name with that much fondness before. When he finds a smile curving Hermann’s mouth, Newt loses his breath. Hermann had a beautiful smile. It was the second thing he felled in love with, next to Hermann’s beautiful brain, of course.

Hermann circles his desk, suddenly the distance between them vanishes. “I should have never listened to that doctor.” He says as he digs into his grandpa trouser’s pockets, pulling out a set of two rings.

Maybe the sight of Hermann sliding his wedding band onto Newt’s finger is what triggers Newt’s memory. Maybe not all of it at once. But enough. Like their first kiss after Newt’s confession. Or how they both had tears in their eyes when they stood before an altar.

“Oh…” Hermann whispers when Newton’s lips brush against his knuckles. The metal feels cool against his lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/172812904665/i-usually-post-my-newmann-ideas-over-on-twitter


	2. Nail Polish

Hermann is actually really skilled at painting nails, much to Newton’s surprise. One day, a rare occasion, Hermann actually offers to paint Newton’s nails while Newton’s attempting to, but he keeps getting distracted trying to simultaneously complete five different task. Newt doesn’t expect the offer but decides it’s better to keep his mouth shut and see where this goes because he doesn’t want to piss Hermann off when he’s clearly in a good mood if he’s offering to do something for Newt.

Newt wants to tease him, just a little bit, just a smidge, but then he sees how relaxed Hermann becomes like he finally exhaled after holding his breath for so long as if painting nails is Hermann's version of meditating. 

It’s too much. Hermann’s entire focus is on Newton’s nails carefully painting his fingernails and his touches are delicate but firm. Hermann has to pin Newt's hand down to the table to keep Newt from tapping some rhythm with his fingers across the top of his desk. “Hold still.” Hermann softly reprimands.

Newt’s heart is beating a bit too fast, being this close to Hermann and feeling Hermann’s fingertips ghosting over his skin. There's no denying it, Hermann must be able to feel Newt’s jumping pulse if he presses hard enough against his wrist. If Hermann notices, he doesn’t say anything.

It ends up that Hermann not just proficient at math, at long complicated mathematical equations, queries that most minds couldn't even dare to solve, but he's incredibly talented at painting nails. Newt’s used to his being sloppy and messy because his hands may be steady for a lot of things (he’s a biologist, they had to be) but painting nails are not one of them. While Newt rushes through the process, Hermann takes his time, slowly dragging the brush over the fingernail, never getting too much nail polish on the brush, just the perfect amount. How he begins in the middle, pushes backward until he's swooping from side to side, staying in the lines like in a coloring book.

It's a funny, amusing thing to fall in love with, but Newt stumbles, topples head first in love with the way his nails looks, how neat the strokes of paint are, how even. He never even fathom it was possible for his nails to look like _this_. He also falls a bit more in love with Hermann afterward too, with how pleased and satisfied Hermann looks with himself once he finishes. Newt's aware there’s a story behind the surface, behind that small, but warm smile on Hermann's face and he wants, nothing more, to ask so badly, but Newt remains quiet, doesn’t ask the burning question on his tongue. Mainly because he wants Hermann to _want_ to tell him more. He wants Hermann to volunteer the story behind how a stuffy mathematician is pretty damn good at painting nails because he wants Newt to know, because _he_ wants to share it with Newt.

“Wow, dude, you’re really good at this.”

“I should think so. I did this a lot for my siblings. Karla and Bastian would always beg me to paint their nails.” Hermann’s still holding Newt’s hand, examining his work. “But it has been awhile…”

Newt can tell by his tone that he misses it, so he takes a gamble, a risk, and puts the offer right there on the table, tells Hermann that he’s welcome to paint Newt’s fingernails anytime he desires. 

Newt knows he said the right thing when Hermann's contemplating face turns into a wide smile and the corners of his eyes crinkle. Newt’s heart flutters in his chest, skipping a bit and he realizes then in that exact moment that he wishes to make Hermann smile at him like _that_ for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/173505589315/so-i-like-to-imagine-that-hermann-is-actually


	3. Ice Cream

Hermann Gottlieb grew up in a very strict household. His father ruled the home with an iron fist when he  _was_ home. It was always a big sigh of relief when Lars had to leave for some trip or something work-related. As if Hermann could relax and just be himself around his siblings. Just be a kid, who love space and planes and nonsensical stuff his father would always scoff at.

Lars instilled into Hermann of not letting his emotions control him and never show weakness. Hermann had to be perfect, could never slip up, not once. A blank, controlled expressionless mask to wear and never let the cracks show.

Despite this, Hermann is soft. He cares so much, about everyone, his mother, his siblings, about saving the world, about numbers, about a short, wild, reckless, emotional man and the letters they exchanged for  _years_.

Newton is like wildfire, an open flame, he’s everything Hermann could never be growing up. Loud. Openly curious. Expressive. Bold. So,  _so_  colorful.

Hermann has controlled his feelings for his entire life, was taught that not doing so is a sign of weakness and weakness has no place in the Gottlieb home. With Newton, Hermann’s control slips. There’s a burning inside him whenever they argue, like standing so close to Newton leaves him on fire too. It’s a passion he thought he lost when Lars beat it out of him. He feels so strongly when around Newton. His heart race. His skin tingles. His hands shake. His voice climbs to match Newton’s. He has never felt  _so much._ Newton brings it out of him, tears down the walls with a sledgehammer till there’s nothing but rumble at their feet.

Newton begins to hate Hermann’s father when he finds out just how Lars treats him. He always probably dislike the man because of the whole Wall of Life but hates him even more after seeing how Hermann becomes after anytime he’s forced to interact with his father. His whole attitude shifts after a brief run in or phone call. Hermann’s disposition changes from the man Newton had completely fallen into something of a punished child. His slouched back fixes into a rim-rod straight posture. So straight that it looks painful. Hermann loses his voice, his spirit, his fire, doesn’t even attempt to argue back with Newton. Not even when Newt provokes him with kaiju entrails. Instead, it’s like an empty shell of the Hermann he’s used to.

Lars’s visits are rare, thankfully, but when he does visit, it’s never good. It’s always painful to watch. Nothing Hermann does is enough for him. Lars is always disapproving of Hermann’s choices some way or another. Criticising his choice to stay on a sinking ship instead of working with him with the Wall of Life. Hermann never speaks up, never defends himself, just keep taking each blow and punches with a blank expression.

This time Lars visits, he brings heart-wrenching news about one of Hermann’s siblings. He says it so casually, Newton would almost believe that Lars is discussing something he read in this morning’s news, not a death of a family member.

A distressed noise escapes Hermann’s throat, out in the air before Hermann had the chance to clamp it shut and of course his father tears into him for it.

“ _Mein Gott,_ Hermann, control yourself.” 

Hermann just nods, schools his face into something of marble, but Newton can see the pain in his eyes, the pursed lips like he’s struggling not to cry.

And it takes every last bit of self-control for Newton not to tell Lars to fuck right off. He doesn’t, only for Hermann’s sake. He knows it would only make it worse for him.

Lars leaves and Newton’s heart breaks seeing Hermann still standing there, trying very hard not to cry. Finally, he turns back to his chalkboard, picks up a piece of chalk with trembling hands and attempts to finish his equations.

Newton waits approximately five seconds before he’s tugging off his gloves and making his way over to Hermann’s side of the lab. He approaches him carefully, “Dude, are you alright?”

Hermann doesn’t speak, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch.

“Because it’s okay if you aren’t.” Newton continues forward, placing a comforting hand on Hermann’s shoulder. 

At this, Hermann drops the piece of chalk in his hand, it hits the floor with a soft thump and rolls until it hits the tip of Newton’s shoe. He can feel Hermann’s shoulder shake underneath his hand. Hermann hiccups, quickly covering the noise with his hand, trying to stifle it. 

“It’s okay to be upset, Hermann. It’s okay.” Newton repeats. 

Hermann breaks down then and all Newton can do is pull him in. Hermann folds immediately, dropping his head and burying his face into Newton’s shoulder. It takes Newton’s breath momentarily. Hermann clings to him, fingers clutching Newton’s shirt. Newton can feel Hermann’s body shake with each sob, feel his shirt become damp with Hermann’s tears, but he only holds Hermann closer, murmuring words of comfort. 

Afterward, Newton can tell Hermann’s embarrassed. He mumbles out a quiet thank you but before he has the chance to flee,  Newton makes Hermann some ice cream. They sit together on the sofa in the lab, eating the treat, and Newton asks about Hermann’s sibling. He lets Hermann grieve and talk and reminisce. When Hermann dozes off, spent from all the crying, Newton covers him with a blanket, leaves him there to sleep and decides then and there to not leave kaiju entrails over on Hermann’s side for at least a year. And anytime Hermann needs his shoulder, he’ll always be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/173722899485/i-feel-like-hermann-gottlieb-grew-up-in-a-very


	4. Dresses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this is ridiculously self-indulgent but I recently watched this video of Florence + the Machine singing on Jimmy Fallon and cannot get this idea out of my head of Hermann Gottlieb wearing these beautiful long dresses (particularly the dress Florence is wearing in the video)

Hermann wears these lovely, flowy ankle-length dresses. He doesn’t dare wear them at the shatterdome. He knows that most people won’t care, especially not Newt of all people. But he’s not quite there yet to let people, his co-workers, see this side of him. So he doubles ups on layers, hides his body under tweed and wears these ill-fitting clothes because most of his paycheck goes to buying clothes he actually loves (and bills) and just buys all his sweaters and too big trousers at thrift stores. It’s affordable and usually not much of a hassle. He picks the first things he sees on a hanger. Hermann doesn’t really care how he dresses at the shatterdome as long as he’s professionally attired.

But when he’s home, (Hermann rents out an apartment when he first transfers to the Hong Kong shatterdome) or has the day off from work, he can relax and put on one of his many dresses.

Hermann is quite friendly with his neighbors, maybe helping them on occasion (like everyone on that floor knows Hermann as the genius mathematician, so they tend to go to him for advice for certain issues, Hermann’s even tutoring his landlady’s daughter) and they don’t judge him on what he likes to wear. (Actually, the children love seeing him in his dresses. They become convinced that Hermann is one of the fae folk with all his pretty dresses. And Hermann plays along with it, into their stories and make-believe, because he enjoys seeing their little faces light up and giggles pouring out when he shares secrets of the fae realm with them.)

So when there’s a knock on his door, he answers while wearing one of his dresses with no hesitation, because he’s simply expecting it to be one of his neighbors and not a certain biologist.

“Herm-!” Newton stops halfway through his greeting when Hermann swings the door open.

Newton’s reaction is almost cartoonish. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Mouth falling open. Green eyes comically wide, as large as saucers, sweeping over the length of Hermann’s body with a stunned expression.  “-mann…” He finishes weakly.

Hermann’s face heats up, warmth creeping up his neck and the tip of his ears burns when Newton doesn’t look away. Doesn’t talk either. Hermann’s never quite seen Newton speechless before. He thought he would cherish the day when Newton Geiszler was rendered unable to speak, but he was sorely mistaken.  Now he can’t bear the silence. He needs to hear Newton say something,  _anything_. At this point, even Newt ridiculing him would be preferable than this.

But that’s not entirely true. Hermann cares what Newton thinks, especially about this. This was an important part of Hermann and if the man he’s been in love with since they began exchanging letters didn’t accept this side of him…Well…Hermann doesn’t know what he’d do.

Newt, on the other hand, had been rendered speechless not because he didn’t approve, quite the contrary. He’s pretty sure he’s fallen in love with Hermann all over again. He’s speechless because Hermann’s breathtaking. His dark hair looks messy, disheveled like he’s been running his fingers through it. Newt doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hermann’s hair in such a state of the whole time they’ve been working together. Hermann’s dark hair appears even darker, like a shade of the midnight sky, his pale skin porcelain against the blush pink dress he’s wearing. He never realized just how tall Hermann was, used to his almost slouched posture at work. But here, Hermann stands tall, straight, at ease. Like he’s meant to wear dresses. And Newton agrees. The dress flatters his height, the cloth curving around his body like it was made especially for Hermann. His eyes dip lower, seeing the material turn sheer at his knees down to his ankles, showing nicely-shaped, strong calves.

Suddenly images flood Newton’s mind. He wants Hermann sprawled beneath him, wants to feel the material against his skin, the softness, push Hermann’s dress up until it gathers and pools around his hips. Kissing each ankle, lips trailing upward, over miles of skin until he reaches-Newt’s fantasy cuts off when he notices Hermann’s bare feet, toes curling and uncurling against the carpeted floor in an anxious manner. It’s then he snaps his eyes up back to Hermann’s face.

“Newton…” Hermann starts but doesn’t continue, as if he’s waiting with bated breath.

Newton decides not to make a big deal out of it. He sorta wants to. Maybe be a touch dramatic about Hermann not telling him about his dresses, feigning a hurt expression while holding a hand to his chest, declaring that he doesn’t know how their friendship can go on. Tease him until Hermann’s rolling his eyes at his theatrics and possibly shutting the door in his face.

But Newton decides against it. Instead, he just continues where he left off. Not even mentioning the elephant in the room. “Sorry, I should’ve called earlier.” Newt apologies with a shrug and pushes his way inside, ignoring Hermann’s exasperated huff. Newton knows he made the right call when he notices Hermann’s tensed shoulders drop in relief. (He think he sees a flicker of disappointment too but it’s gone before he can question it.)

He doesn’t mention Hermann’s outfit the entire time he’s there, not until he’s leaving. It’s risky because he doesn’t quite know how Hermann will react but he’s almost out the door before he turns around and says, “By the way, you look gorgeous, Hermann.”

It’s worth it, Newt decides, witnessing Hermann’s face pinken at the compliment even if Hermann might yell at him. He’s shutting the door before Hermann gets the chance though. Newt’s smiling to himself the whole way back to his own apartment.

And later, when Newt starts coming over more often, Hermann becomes more comfortable with wearing dresses around Newt. Newt always complimenting his dress as soon as he arrives. And during movie nights,  Hermann sits with his legs propped up on Newt’s lap when they watch documentaries and star trek together. Newt slipping his hands under the skirt of Hermann’s dress, rubbing and massaging Hermann’s calves and feet after a long day. Hermann kisses Newt’s cheek to show his gratitude and finally, it’s Newton who blushes madly much to Hermann’s enjoyment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/174070630185/ok-so-this-is-ridiculously-self-indulgent-and-ive


	5. Bruises: part one

Dr. Newton “Call me Newt” Geiszler bruises easily. 

Well, maybe not easily, but everyone at the shatterdome knows that Newt’s clumsy. Steady hands though, some could argue the most steady in the entire shatterdome. Strong hands with calluses from building and tearing things apart. The only part of him that could be stilled and stay frozen. Like a surgeon’s hands. But all that coordination went only to his hands, nothing left over for his other limbs. 

His clumsiness leaves him with tons of bruises. Purple marks on his shins from repeatedly hitting the corner of his desk in the lab during the mornings, before his coffee and certainly not awake enough to be coordinated. His knees constantly scraped and torn from falling. Red, irritated scratches down his arms, making the kaiju covering his forearms bleed. Large bruises blemishing his body after running into a door, or his lab table, or even the glass container holding the damaged kaiju brain. 

Hermann thinks Newt’s hopeless, like he never grew out of the accident-prone phase when he was a child, and Hermann knew Newt was just as careless as a child about his well-being as he is as an adult after Newt supplying him with endless stories about fractured bones and a chipped tooth and many more injuries he encountered during his youth. 

And of course, Hermann worries about Newt. He doesn’t know whether Newt simply doesn’t realize how accident prone he is or simply doesn’t care about the consequences of his actions. He thinks it’s probably a mixture of both. Hermann could not count the number of times on one hand he had to step in and prevent Newt from doing something absolutely reckless just because Newt was curious and whenever Hermann would demand an answer to Newt’s reasonings, Newt would simply shrug and say, “Science, man.” 

Hermann becomes used to Newt’s clumsy nature, predicting that Newt will sometime during the day manage to hurt himself some way or other, whether it be accidentally hitting himself in the eye or giving himself a papercut while doing his long overdue reports. Hermann’s always there to play nurse. Newt takes it all in stride, doesn’t seem to mind too much whenever Hermann’s crowding his space and tending to his injuries. In fact, he just smiles, flutter his eyelashes and calls Hermann his “knight in shining armor always at his rescue.” Which has Hermann rolling his eyes and leaves the tips of his ears burning.  

It’s rare for it to be the other way around. Hermann’s cautious, always careful not to expose himself to the hazardous chemicals on Newt’s side of the lab when Newt’s cutting open a kaiju. Ensuring that the floor was clear, no clutter, no wires, or cords lying about, nothing that could cause him to trip over. He takes his time climbing up and down his ladder, never stretching out too far while writing equations on his chalkboard that would result in him losing his balance. 

He, however, doesn’t consider his own leg to be his downfall. Hermann’s stubborn, too stubborn some would say (Newt mainly) when it comes to his own injury. He refuses to let his leg hold him back, pushes himself because the world was ending, anything less is simply not enough. So Hermann pushes himself to work longer, even when his leg is throbbing. He ignores the pain and continues writing equations high up on his ladder

Luckily Newt’s close by when Hermann’s leg buckles under his weight. He’s had been standing beside Hermann, yammering away about the state of his kaiju parts not being fresh enough and preserved poorly. When Hermann realizes what’s happening, it’s too late. He tries to reach out to grip the sides of the ladder but he’s falling backward. Hermann squeezes his eyes shut, expecting a hard, painful landing against the floor. 

Hermann opens his eyes when his back hits against something firm, but much softer than the concrete floor. He hears a loud grunt coming from behind him. It’s then Hermann realizes what had happened.

Newt had caught him. 

Newt had taken the brunt of the fall, landing hard against the floor of the lab with twice the weight. His breath stuttered as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Hermann could feel Newt exhale short puffs of air, blowing against the top of his head. 

Hermann couldn’t move, not with Newt’s arms protectively curled around his waist, Newt doesn’t release him as they both struggle to catch their breath and Hermann lies there, face burning as he realizes their positions. Newt holding him to his chest with his strong arms, their legs tangled together.

“You alright?” Newt asks quietly. 

Hermann nods, a bit shook from the experience, “Yes, I believe so.” 

Newt sighs in relief, as if he only cared about the possibility of Hermann being hurt, not even concerning himself with the fact that it was actually him that suffered the worse from the fall and could very easily be injured with cracked ribs.

His arms don’t drop their hold around Hermann as he maneuvers them both sitting up where Hermann’s back is pressed flat against Newton’s chest, his spine aligning with Newton’s sternum. He feels Newt’s chest rise and fall, his own following shortly after, at first out of rhythm but soon their breathing becomes in sync with each other.

Hermann goes to thank Newt but the words dry on his tongue when Newt drops his forehead against Hermann’s shoulder. He freezes, unsure how to react, so he sits completely still and waits for something to break the silence.

Newt does after a while. His breath warms his skin through his shirt, causing Hermann to force back a small shiver. Newt’s words are muffled, lips moving against Hermann’s back. “You have to be more careful, Hermann.”

And at first, Hermann wants to argue back that he  _is_ the one who’s careful, it’s Newt who is constantly putting himself at risk, but Newt continues and the spark to argue dies.

“You’re constantly pushing yourself too much. I don’t know what I’d do-” Newt cuts himself off. Newt pauses and Hermann’s heart starts to race with the possibilities of how that sentence could finish.

Newt chuckles to himself, “I know you won’t listen to me. You’re stubborn, but please, Dr _._ Gottlieb _,_  for my sake, take a break every once in a while.” 

Hermann nods because words fail him. Unable to speak for fear that his voice will crack, stutter, revealing how affected he is from just by Newt’s proximity alone. Hermann feels Newt smile against his shoulder at his complaisant answer, knowing that he won't be able to forget the weight of Newt’s mouth and how much he wants to feel it against his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/174135755310/dr-newton-call-me-newt-geiszler-bruises


	6. Bruises: part two

Newton always shows Hermann his collections of bruises. Why? Hermann doesn’t have a single clue, but Newt proudly shows them off like his tattoos, as if they are his personal battle wounds from fighting the kaiju, even though his brand of fighting involved more scalpels and late nights in the lab and less stepping inside giant robots to fist fight the creatures. The dark marks become lost in the mass of colors along Newton’s arms, but they stand out on his unmarked skin.

“Hey, Herms! Check this out.” Newt says in lieu of a greeting as he enters their lab. Hermann sighs, grabbing his cane and struggling to his feet. He starts to grumble about being interrupted but stops abruptly when he sees Newt pulling his shirt over his head.

“Newton! What on Earth are you  _doing?”_

Newt looks back at Hermann over his shoulder, grinning like a pleased schoolboy. “Check out this giant bruise on my shoulder.” 

Hermann swallows, eyes leaving Newton’s face, flickering down to the tanned, bare skin on display. After several protests over the treatment of his kaiju parts, Stacker finally gave permission for Newt to attend and give a hand in collecting the specimens. Newt’s pale skin quickly darken in the Australian sun. Hermann enjoys the warmth much more than facing the cold harsh months at the Anchorage shatterdome, but the heat becomes a distraction. Even though he spends most of his time in the cool lab, the distraction comes in shapes of  freckles dotting along the tanned skin, brought out from days standing under the sun.

The freckles covers Newton’s skin like a blanket, and his back is no difference. Hermann’s eyes travel the length of Newton’s spine, following the path of freckles down to the slope of Newton’s back. 

“Whaddya think?” Newt asks, startling Hermann out of his daze. His face burns, realizing that he’s just been standing there, silent, staring at Newton’s back.

He shakes his head at himself, return his focus at the large bruise covering most of Newton’s shoulder. Hermann steps closer, cutting the distance between them, until the bruise is right under his fingertips. It  _was_ a nasty bruise. Purple with specs of red in between, broken blood vessels. He grazes the bruised skin, his touch light as a feather, afraid to put too much pressure, but Newt lets out a gasp. 

Hermann drops his hand as if Newton’s skin burned him. Apologies slipping out fast at his actions.

“No!” Newton shouts at the loss of touch and then immediately lowers his voice, brushing off Hermann’s apologies. “You didn’t hurt me. I just was surprised, that’s all.” Newton reassures him and there’s something in his voice Hermann can’t quite identify. Before Hermann gets the chance, Newt’s reaching behind him, grabbing for Hermann’s wrist and awkwardly returning Hermann’s hand onto his back. The angle isn’t right, so Hermann’s hand ends up landing far off from Newt’s shoulder. Instead, his palm is flat against the dip of Newt’s spine. 

Newt releases a shaky breath as Hermann’s hands travels upward, smoothing over his spine as his palm climbs up each vertebra. He eases some of the pressure once he reaches the bruised area. 

His thumb slides across. “Does it hurt?”

Newton shakes his head, his breathing slightly strained as if it  _does_ hurt. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, dude.” Newton’s neck twist to the side, peering over his shoulder, it’s then Hermann discovers a faint pink dusting covering Newt’s cheeks.

Hermann, himself, thinks he might be blushing too. Newton’s skin is so warm, sunkissed, and the heat feels heavenly against Hermann’s palm. He wants to touch every inch of Newton’s back and continue onto his arms, feeling the strong muscles under his fingertips, wrap his arms around Newt’s waist so his hands could travel the unexplored skin.

_Lean his head forward until his lips meets the bare skin. A trail of kisses. Start at the bruise as if Hermann’s lips could heal the contusion and work his way upwards, mouth sliding along the slope of Newton’s neck, leaving his own bruises along the way._

The intimate thought makes Hermann’s heart thump in his chest. He clears his throat, dropping his hand once more and stepping away. Disappointed at his cowardice. 

He pretends to be unaffected by his thoughts, forcing himself to cast his gaze off to the side, “Honestly Newton, you must be more careful.” He scolds before asking how he managed to get the bruise in the first place.

It’s while Newton tugs back on his shirt, explaining his accident, Hermann wills himself to forget the heat of Newton’s skin, clenching and unclenching his fingers as if he could shake the sensation away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/174145439815/part-two-of-this-post-newton-always-shows-hermann


	7. Bruises: part three

There are no secrets left between them after the drift. No confusion as to why Newt shows off his injuries to Hermann.  _It’s an excuse_ , Hermann learns as if the thought drops into his head, narrated by a certain xenobiologist,  _a desperate attempt to be touched by Hermann._

And if Hermann knows that from the drift, he has no doubts that Newton knows every thought racing in his head that day when Newton had caught him from slipping off his ladder or how much Hermann had wanted to kiss the large bruise on Newton’s shoulder.

Now Newton doesn’t even have to show off his injuries. Hermann can mentally catalog every bruise on Newton’s body in his mind without Newt even showing him. He feels every ache, the soreness settling with each step. Hermann presses down on his own unmarked skin and it hurts as if there’s an invisible bruise under his flesh. This must be ghost-drifting, he thinks. Not only does he gets a mental map of Newton’s injuries, but the memories of how he obtained them as well. Hermann shudders at the thoughts. Adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins, making his heart pump faster and leaving him a touch breathless after being chased by Otachi. The painful spike when he thinks about getting hit by a car. He recalls Newton shouting at him before they drifted,  _“Hermann! I haven’t exactly had a very good day, okay_?” With the memories swirling around Hermann’s head, that was certainly an understatement. Truthfully, Hermann doesn’t know how Newton’s standing upright at the moment.

Everyone is celebrating in the Mess Hall. Loud music spills out into the halls, echoing, along with victorious cheers and shouts. Hermann could still hear the thrums of it even as they walked farther and farther away from the Mess Hall. He could understand it, could taste the relief on the tip of his tongue. It’s in the air. The exhilaration of winning. They all have lived in constant fear for so long, the threat of apocalypse looming over them. They had learned how to push their fear aside in order to work for another tomorrow. All those late nights had paid off, all the tears and sweat and failed efforts were worth something. They had  _won_.

Hermann wants to go to the Med Bay. They both desperately needed medical attention. They have no idea what consequences they may face from drifting with these creatures. They should be in the Med Bay getting brain scans and x-rays. Hermann’s pretty certain, with the faint ache along his ribs, that Newton had cracked several bones. But they’re both exhausted and Hermann knew Newton would argue against going. They were staggering down the corridors, going…somewhere? Hermann wasn’t sure, he just let Newton lead him. At this point, they both carried each other, arms wrapped around shoulders, leaning so close against one another that Hermann could feel the cold, damp chill coming off Newton’s clothes. 

They stop outside Hermann’s room, right in front of the door. For a second, Hermann can see the doubt flicker across Newton’s face, second-guessing whether or not he should stick around, thinking about leaving Hermann to his room before walking away to his own. 

Hermann knows that Newt doesn’t want to be alone. He knows that they’re so tangled together, their minds, that he’s not quite know how they can be separate. 

Hermann wants Newton to stay.

“Come along then.” Hermann beckons, opening his door and immediately sees the relief on Newton’s face. 

It’s quiet when they enter. Both silent as they realized for the first time since they’ve been back at the shatterdome, they’re alone. Completely alone with memories of longing to reach out and touch for years. Mutual feelings of admiration and respect, ones that go a bit deeper, fondness, love.

Newton looks around Hermann’s room as if he’s never been in there before and Hermann snorts in amusement. 

“Well, aren’t you going to show me?” 

At first, Newton looks confused by the question, but then a spark of understanding flashes across his face. He nods, but doesn’t move, stands there in the center of Hermann’s room.

Hermann cuts the distance between them, moving slowly, leisurely, they have time now. There’s no rush, no urgency. Not anymore. Not after tonight. 

He could feel Newton’s heart beating, like it’s tucked inside his own chest, pumping along with his own heart. It quickens in pace as Hermann approaches, as he pushes Newt’s torn leather jacket off his shoulders. 

Newt doesn’t guide him, doesn’t have to, Hermann knows where to look. His fingers slightly tremble with each button he undoes, and it’s not long before Newton’s shirt falls and joins his leather jacket on the floor. Newton’s breathing a bit faster now. Hermann watches as his chest rise and fall, the muscles jumping at the base of his throat as Newt swallows, as Hermann’s eyes sweep over the tattooed-covered chest. 

It takes a while to find what he’s looking for, with all the swirl of colors, it’s hard to pinpoint, but he follows the shadows, the ones that don’t normally belong, and there it is, a bruise resting just below Newton’s collarbone.

“May I?” 

Newton breathes out. _“Please_.” 

His heart’s pounding. So loud Hermann fears that it’s seconds away from bursting through his chest cavity, that Newton could hear, he probably could. He’s careful, gentle, when he covers the bruise with his mouth, kissing the damaged skin. He kisses the bruise once, twice, three times before Newton’s groaning and wrapping a hand around the nape of his neck and pulling him upwards to meet his lips. 

“I wanted to do that for so long,” Hermann admits, whispering against Newton’s mouth.

“I know.” 

Hermann decides they’ll go to the Med Bay in the morning, they can worry about their health tomorrow. Tonight he plans on kissing every single bruise on Newton’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/174210128775/third-part-of-these-posts-1-2-there-are-no


	8. Baseball Bat

Anger is the key that breaks the precursors’ hold on Newt. 

Hermann starts talking to him every day while Newt’s locked up and at first he doesn’t think it’s making a difference. But he still visits, every day, bringing something to remind Newton of his old self. Sometimes he brings their letters, other times he’ll wear his old parka or wear ten-year-old cologne. Hoping that something will trigger Newt.

The biggest change Hermann does is cut his hair the way he used to. He stands before a mirror, running his fingers above the nape of his neck, getting familiar once more with the buzzed hair. He feels a bit young again. Maybe even a touch foolish, but he decides it’s worth it when he sees the spark of recognition in Newt’s eyes. 

He doesn’t always dredge up past memories, sometimes he’ll just sit and talk about what Newt missed during the ten years. He doesn’t think much of it, mainly he talks about his projects, what everyone at the shatterdome had been up to, stuff like that.

But that’s what does it. Newton realizing the time he’s lost. The time is stolen from him. How much he has missed in Hermann’s life. It enrages him and the precursors’ hold weakens just a bit, but it’s enough for Newt to take back the reins. He has had enough of these assholes ruining his life. 

Hermann in his room when he hears the alarms going off. His palms sweat, his heart races, because he’s afraid of what he’ll find.

Newton had escaped his locked room, but much to their surprise, he doesn’t leave the premises. They find him in Hermann’s lab, standing in front of the vast tank holding the kaiju brain they discovered in Newton’s apartment. Newt stands there holding a baseball bat

Hermann doesn’t know where on earth Newton found a bat during his escape, but he's’ more worried about what Newt plans on doing with it. The trigger-happy guards will see it as a threat, see Newt as a threat that needs to be eliminated.

But Newt doesn’t attack anyone, instead, he spins the baseball bat in his hands before swinging it at the glass. The glass shatters immediately, preservative liquids spilling out, but Newt pays no attention to the pool gathering at his feet. He swings and keeps swinging, bashing the kaiju brain until it’s unrecognizable.

Newt doesn’t realize he’s screaming until Hermann pulls him away, whispering calming words into his ear and Newt drops the bat, hands trembling, and when  Hermann wraps his arms around Newton, he starts to sob. 

For the first time in ten years, he finally feels in control again once Alice is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/174280402575/anger-is-the-key-that-breaks-the-precursors-hold


	9. Chairs

Newt and Hermann always sit next to each other during PPDC staff meetings. Newt gets the biggest grin on his face whenever Hermann walks into the room and he always pats the chair beside him. Hermann rolls his eyes, but he always sits down.

During the meetings, Newt and Hermann probably whisper retorts back and forth and see who can make each other laugh the loudest. Hermann has to elbow him several times because Newt snorts so loud at one of Hermann’s comments. 

One time Hermann gets there early before Newt does and he’s looking around the room for Newt and gets really disheartened when he doesn’t find him. He still glares at anyone who looks at the empty seat next to him, making sure no one takes it. 

Ten minutes into the meeting, Newt rushes in, loudly apologizes for being late and slips in the seat beside Hermann. 

Hermann’s brain ceases to function when Newt places a hand on Hermann’s thigh, giving it a combination between a pat and rub and leans into him and whispers, “Thanks for saving me a seat, Herms.” 

His face stays pink for the rest of the meeting after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/174376477445/newt-and-hermann-always-sits-next-to-each-other


	10. Notes

Hermann loves his numbers and he retreats to them in safety.  Because they have always been his safety net. Numbers can’t lie, they don’t make promises that inevitably break along with his heart. They aren’t schemes or manipulations. 

They are pure, unblemished by corrupting figures. 

It’s in these numbers that Hermann also finds confidence, because when has math ever let him down? 

He starts leaving little notes for Newton, notes filled with astrophysical, mathematical flirtations. He blushes after he leaves the first one, placing it at the center of Newton’s computer screen. This was unusual for him to be so bold. 

And Newt keeps every single one of them, even though he doesn’t understand any of them because math wasn’t  _his_ field. He recognizes some of the words but not enough to make sense out of the note. Newt just assumes that Hermann’s just trying to teach him some math. Which is  _rich_ because every time Newt leaves Kaiju entrails over on Hermann’s side, he throws a fit. 

Disappointed at Newton’s lack of response, Hermann still leaves notes, although his confidence is dwindling with each one.

But finally,  _finally,_ Hermann leaves one that Newt understands. It takes a while for his brain to figure it out, rereading the note several times before he looks up over at Hermann who’s writing away, standing on his ladder and shouts, “Dude, have you been flirting with me?!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/174722935075/hermann-loves-his-numbers-and-he-retreats-to-them


	11. Glasses

The first time Hermann saw Newton without his glasses was in midst of an argument.

It’s not a particularly loud argument, neither one of them are yelling, but Hermann’s voice is slowly climbing higher and higher in incredulous outrage at Newton’s ridiculousness. He’s focused on proving Newton wrong, ticking off counter-arguments one by one. 

Newton’s unusually calm, not too bothered by Hermann’s opposition. He’s leaning against his desk, fiddling with some tool, occasionally interrupting Hermann’s long-winded rant, but for the most part, he just listens, unfazed.

“Therefore this not only proves that–” Hermann stops when he sees a flash of color peeking from under Newton’s shirt and it takes him a minute to realize what he’s staring at. 

The blur of colors, the swirls of reds and hints of yellows, and greens come into clear focus, Hermann’s staring at kaiju or rather he’s staring at Newt’s stomach.

Hermann is transfixed at the colors, the smooth skin on display, the little spill over his waistband that Hermann wonders how it would feel running his hands over.

Newton had yanked his white buttoned-down shirt high up, revealing most of this tattooed covered chest. He’s using the end up his shirt to clean his glasses.

Of course, Newton’s notices Hermann’s sudden silence and he looks over at him, peeking up through his eyelashes. Hermann’s mouth falls open, lips parting slightly as he quietly exhales, a rush of air leaving his lungs at the sight of Newt.

Without his glasses, Hermann can see the freckles dotting around Newt’s eyes and the bridge of his nose. He can see the array of colors surrounding his pupils, the hazel, blue, and green. Conflicting colors that left Hermann struggling to pinpoint the exact color all these years.  _Heterochromia_ , Hermann thinks to himself.

If Newton notices Hermann’s reaction, he pays no attention to it and Hermann has to wonder just how well Newton can see at the moment, whether or not Hermann was just a blur to him.

“Not only proves…?” Newton prompts, repeating Hermann’s last words back to him and at this point, Hermann has completely forgotten about the argument entirely.

“Y-You know what, nevermind, I was mistaken Newton, you were correct.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/174976122850/the-first-time-hermann-saw-newton-without-his


	12. Doctor Newton Geiszler, MD

Newton is an _actual_ medical doctor and just never told Hermann about it in any of his letters.

He gets it mostly because of boredom, something to keep him occupied. It comes in use though even if he doesn’t start his own medical practice when kaiju samples are dried up and he doesn’t have anything to do in the lab. He  _could_ do the stack of paperwork waiting on his desk but that’s no fun so he ignores it. Instead, anytime he doesn’t have new samples to work on, he’ll volunteer down at the Medical Bay, because 1. It’s super understaffed and 2. It keeps him busy.

Hermann never asks when he leaves on those days, doesn’t ever questions where Newt’s going. He doesn’t care where. The lab’s empty and that mean it’s  _silent_. He can actually work in peace for once.

But one day, when Hermann goes for his monthly check up to Med Bay, the doctor that usually tends to him, is out of the shatterdome for a time being.

Hermann’s not expecting Newton to walk through the door. Newton stumbles to a halt, seeing Hermann sitting on the cot only in a dressing gown that’s too short for him, revealing his pale legs and knees. 

Newton gives him the biggest shit-eating grin. 

“Newton!” Hermann hisses, “What are you doing here? You are  _not_ a doctor!”

“Yeah, actually I am.” Newton holds the clipboard against his chest, lightly clacking the stethoscope looped around his neck, laughing because this is too good, too rich. The best thing that has ever happen the whole time he has worked with the PPDC.

“Today, it seems like I’ll be your attending physician–” He glances down at the clipboard, pretending to read Hermann’s patient file. “Mr. Gottlieb.”

“It’s  _doctor_.” 

“Oh, you’re a doctor too.” 

“Newton!” 

Newton just snorts, slapping his knees after sitting down at the chair beside the cot. “Relax, Herms. I’m a professional. If you’re really serious about not wanting to be seen by me, you can schedule another appointment when your regular physician returns.” 

Hermann doesn’t want to be seen by Newton, he doesn’t want Newton to know his personal medical history,  _but_ , it would be a waste of his time not to be seen today since he has scheduled his whole day around this appointment. 

He grumbles and waves at Newton to carry on.

“Awesome.” Newton claps his hands together, “Let’s get started, so tell me why you’re here today?” 

It turns out Newton’s not completely incompetent as a doctor. Much to Hermann’s dismay, he’s actually rather good at it. He’s courteous and polite compared to some of the doctors Hermann has had in the past. He keeps a straight face and doesn’t tease Hermann about his leg when he’s examining it. 

“You never mentioned this in the letters.” Hermann stares at the ceiling, avoiding looking at Newton while he’s gingerly touching Hermann’s leg, trailing his fingers down, pushing at muscles. 

“Ah,” Newton shrugs, “Wanted to impressed you, didn’t want to come off as boring.”

Hermann sputters, “A medical doctor  _isn’t_ boring, Newton.”

Newton shrugs again, “Maybe, but it isn’t as cool as a kaiju specialist and that’s what caught your attention in the first place, right?.” 

Hermann nods, his face warming. 

When he leaves, Newton prescribes him more of his painkillers, tells him he’s overworking his leg and to keep it elevated at night and to stay off it as much. 

“And I’ll know if you’re not following my advice.” He winks at Hermann before exiting and leaving Hermann completely flustered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/175183271480/so-im-kinda-obsessed-with-the-idea-that-newton-is


	13. Counting Numbers

Hermann counts.

_one, two, three, four._

He counts repetitively. A mantra without words. Only numbers. It’s calming, soothing because he can control the numbers this way, something he does when everything else is falling apart, and it is. It’s the end of the world.

He counts the spaces in between the silence. The sounds of Newt’s tools hitting the metal table. The clang echoing in the air. The soft  _snap_ of chalk breaking in his hands. The tapping of his cane against the floor. The electrical hum of the lights above them, the endless buzzing.

It should be messy, keeping track of all these noises. keeping count. Newt tosses his scalpel down five times now. Hermann broke his chalk three times. He’s tapped his cane ten times in total, and the buzzing of lights? Well, that’s infinite.

It’s enough to distract him, which is what Hermann needs so that he doesn’t end up counting his own heartbeat or how many times Newt glances over at him. How many times Newt smiles. Laughs. Calls out his name. Count the seconds of how long they stare at each other, lingering eye contact that feels like it means something or  _should._ As if something is being said without being spoken at all.

So Hermann counts everything else in between instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/176158361530/hermann-counts-one-two-three-four-he-counts


	14. Doctor Newton Geiszler, MD Part Two

Hermann hears Newton before he sees him. His high scratchy voice that almost sounds like he’s screeching when he gets anxious. 

_“Where is he?! What room is he in? I’m his doctor, I need to see my patient!”_

His heart thuds quietly against his chest, resting behind a hospital gown and ribs and layers of muscles, tucked away in his chest cavity, but it feels like it slams against his skin. He’s not expecting Newton to be here,  at least not back  _so_ early. He had been away, temporarily transferred halfway across the continent to collect kaiju specimens from the latest attack. 

Hermann waits for his arrival, smoothing over the hospital blanket, barely feigning interest in listening to the nurse currently in the room. 

When he arrives, he blows through the doors like a storm, in dramatic fashion (something Newton is incapable of being otherwise), twisting gale force winds of emotions. Panicked. Stressed. Worried. All wrapped up in one short biologist. Hermann wonders how he can fit all those emotions, squeezing them in a tight bottle, like a collapsible ship.

Newton’s borderline frantic, tearing his gaze around the room until he lands on what he’s searching for, on Hermann. Widen eyes, tired around the edges like exhaustion still tugging on the corners despite the desperate restless energy.  

“Newton–” Hermann tries to reassure him, holding up a hand. “There’s no need for a scene–I’m fine.”

It works for the most part. Newton seems to relax by a minuscule fraction. Although Hermann’s unsure whether  _his_ words had helped. Newton looks relieved just by seeing Hermann.

“You call all your doctors by their first name, Hermann? I’m a little wounded.” Newton presses a palm to his chest, feigning hurt. 

“You’re not  _my_ doctor.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s delirious.” Newton finally acknowledges the nurse in the room for the first time. He pretends to write as if he has a clipboard in his hand, “Experiencing confusion. Not a good sign.”

Hermann scoffs, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Despite their constant bickering, it’s good for Newton to be back. Hermann will pretend that he wasn’t lonely without Newton’s presence in their lab, that his work didn’t suffer from his absence. 

Newton returns the smile, something small. He looks away from Hermann briefly, only to stare with irritated confusion at the nurse still in the room. “Why are you still here? I’m his doctor, I can tend to him. You can leave now. Bye.” 

“ _Newton_ –” Hermann warns.

The nurse leaves, understandably vexed, practically shoving the clipboard with Hermann’s chart hard against Newton’s chest. Newton pretends not to notice, or perhaps ignores the nurse’s behavior, Hermann wasn’t sure. He flips through the papers.

The quiet unsettles him and he tries to fill it, desperate to tear Newton’s intense concentration away from his medical chart. His fingers run over the blanket again, smoothing it over, tracing invisible patterns. Repeating numbers in his head to fill the void. 

“I didn’t know you had returned.”

Newt’s eyebrows twitch as he peers up away from his chart for a split second, eyes darting back down immediately after giving Hermann a quick glance.

“I wasn’t. I left early–I–Do you honestly think I wouldn’t drop everything and rush back here after hearing something happened to you? That you were hurt?” 

Hermann blushes although unsure as to why he’s suddenly embarrassed, “I’m–I’m sorry, Newton. I’m fine, I promise. I didn’t mean to drag you away from your work.” 

His tongue peeks out between his lips, a flash of pink swiping in a quick blur before he clicks his tongue and speaks, “Dehydration. Hypotension. Syncope.” 

“Ah, yes.”

“It’s a fancy term for fainting.”

“I know what syncope means, Newton.” 

He swallows more remarks, more words that are too personal to air between them, about how he spent most of his youth in hospitals and doctor offices, painful examinations of poking and prodding and incompetent doctors telling him what he should and shouldn’t be doing, disguised as medical advice.

Newton flips another page, eyes scanning back and forth, reading the documents, growing more and more agitated at what he discovers. 

“You passed out in the lab.” His tone is blunt and sharp all at once, like a dissecting tool, one of his frequently used scalpels for kaiju specimens. 

Hermann almost wants to flinch.

“Yes–But only for a short period of time, mere seconds really–”

“But I wasn’t there, Hermann. What if something worse had happened? What if you had fallen off your ladder? Hit your head against something? No one would have found you, maybe not even until I got back.”

His breathing’s too harsh, too fast, like he’s gulping for air between words, his lungs refusing to fully expand, air replaced with panic instead.

“Newton,  _breathe_. You must breathe, Newton.”

“I can’t–I– Hermann.” 

Hermann holds out his palm, extending his hand towards Newton. Newton drops to his knees, kneeling beside the bed, tossing the clipboard beside Hermann’s feet at the end of the bed and gripping his hand like a lifeline. Clinging and clutching his hand like it’s a buoy in the middle of monster-filled waters.

“I’m okay, Newton. I’m safe.”

Newton doesn’t say a word, his breathing finally evens out, merely drops his forehead against Hermann’s side, bringing Hermann’s knuckles to his mouth. Warmth spreads throughout him, climbing upwards like vines curling around windows, dusting his cheeks rosy pink. 

“Newton…”

His lips are soft, his breath warm, tickling his skin.  “Please take care of yourself, Hermann. I don’t–I can’t lose you–We’re the only two left, Hermann. It’s just us. It’s always only been just us.”

He dares, reaching out with his free hand–the one not captured in Newton’s–and letting his fingertips drag through Newton’s hair, slipping down the nape of his neck. He repeats the motions until he hears Newton shudder beneath him, a little gasp from his lips.

“I promise, Newton.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog/like here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/179356495110/the-second-part-of-this-post-hermann-hears-newton


	15. counting numbers in a blue wasteland

he’s lost. 

he knows he is.

lost in a blue swirling barren landscape. giant creatures, taller than trees, roams among him, but he’s not afraid of them. no. he watches, learns more than he ever anticipated about his beloved monsters. they are puppets, just like him, with invisible rope digging into their skin, being dragged along to do  _their_ bidding.

the precursors.

the ones he’s afraid of.

the ones with blue glowing, blinking eyes hidden, peeking through the leaves, staring at him, always staring at him. ensuring that he’s lost in this nightmare.

it should be hopeless. there are whispers that tell him so, that reminds him he’s been here for  _years,_ what feels like centuries even, and he’s hasn’t escaped yet. that he never will.

faintly there’s another voice. almost drowned out by the hisses of the precursors, but he can still hear it. 

he still remembers. 

they try to shred his memories, but newton always remembers, always can piece them back together again. he can never forget certain things.

the smell of chalk. the tiny cowlick refusing to stand down. tapping of canes on concrete floors. the clicking of keyboards. slant and messy handwriting. 

but mostly he remembers numbers.

he counts daily as he treks through, things to remind him, of himself, of hermann, his only steady comfort. 

he counts how many letters hermann wrote him, recites numbers that he should have long forgotten, mathematical equations and formulas that never belong in his head. 

he repeats, uttering numbers under his breath. counting as he goes, counting the steps that might lead him home. back to hermann.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/180072467490/hes-lost-he-knows-he-is-lost-in-a-blue


	16. rainy days

it rains. pours. and he aches.

stiff tendons. sore muscles. noisy joints. 

with every movement, a sharp twinge of pain shoots down his leg. a shaky exhale follows. squeezing his eyes so tight, bright colors burst beneath his eyelids, little explosions in a dark space. 

his bones are heavy. weighing him down like bricks tied around his wrists, his ankles, and knees. 

those days climbing a ladder is impossible. those days picking up a piece of chalk and curling his fingers around it, hurts. he squeezes hard, ensures his grip is steady, still trembling as he lifts it to his chalkboard. just like it shook that morning, lifting an empty pill bottle.

chalk dust clings to his fingertips. despite this constant state, inevitable even on days when he doesn’t touch chalk, newton captures his hand with his own, holding it gently, carefully, like it’s the most fragile thing in the universe.  

he whispers, “ _hermann_.”

its sounds like a soft reprimand. 

it’s a familiar unspoken argument. _stop pushing yourself, you idiot._ sentiment seeps through the insults. because despite the screaming, the bickering, the anger, and bitterness. they still care, even if they pretend otherwise.

it’s hard to pretend when newton kisses his knuckles, drags his mouth over the aching joints. he kisses each finger. his palm. his wrist bone.

“ _please, hermann_.” he murmurs against his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/180773688440/it-rains-pours-and-he-aches-stiff-tendons-sore


	17. secrets

hermann never speaks.

oh, he yells _._  and shouts. and screams at newt endlessly, like a broken record on repeat. ordering him to clean up his side of the lab, to get rid of those disgusting kaijus entrails (kaiju newt corrects but hermann never listens) 

he does all those things. but he never  _speaks_.

never confides. never shares what bothers him when he gets that look upon his face and newt knows the expression, his forehead crinkles and his wide mouth purses like he’s in thought, struggling with a decision. struggling to keeps his lips clamped shut as if he wants to speak, wishes to, but his lips are glued, stuck together. whatever troubles hermann lies in his mouth, stays resting behind his teeth, on his tongue and never slips out to the light of day.

the thing is hermann used to. he used to trust newt with his secrets, spill them out in ink, staining paper with confessions that left newton blushing the first time he read it, (and reread in darken rooms with fumbling hands, failing attempts to switch on his desk lamp) 

and newton would share his secrets too. 

it hurts that hermann doesn’t trust him like he used to, like a tiny dagger slipping between his rib cage and puncturing his heart. and the wound never healed, not properly, still oozing blood and soaking his less than pristine white shirt.

so he shouts back, even louder than hermann. screeches until his throat’s raw and aches. pretends that he doesn’t trust hermann either. and never dare to admit that he misses sharing secrets, misses hermann even with him standing less than ten feet away, beyond the yellow line separating them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/181090500035/hermann-never-speaks-oh-he-yells-and-shouts


	18. countdown to the new year

_5_

there’s a countdown to midnight. to the new year, one they weren’t certain would come. but it did. they survived another year.

_4_

it’s not the countdown they want. not the one in the mess hall hanging above their heads. what they don’t know is that countdown will come, not now, not that year, but soon. in time, the acting marshall herc hansen will shout, _“stop the clock.”_ for good. for the final time and to never reset it.

they don’t know that just yet.

_3_

newt tries to coax hermann off his wooden ladder, still calculating, forever calculating their odds to another year. newt hears grumbles, retorts, and complaints spilling from under hermann’s breath. he mustn't stop working. no. not just yet.

_2_

“it’s almost midnight, dude.” newt reminds him needlessly. hermann’s aware of the minutes to the new year. he’s counting that too. but there’s something in his voice, something that lures hermann down from the ladder, forgetting the piece of chalk in his hand. still clutching it.

_1_

“we might not get another year. you should probably kiss me.”

“dr. geiszler, are you using the end of the world to hit on me?”

his mouth stretches into another brilliant white smile. “always have been. why’d you think i sent that first letter?” 

_0_

the chalk drops from his fist, clatter to the floor with a soft thump, it echoes are drowned out by fumbling hands and the rustle of clothes–leather jacket and wool sweater-vest hitting the floor.

it’s midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/181613188305/5-theres-a-countdown-to-midnight-to-the-new


	19. Showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: newmann showering together. hermann worshiping newts body. thanks!

Moving in together seems inevitable after the war ends. A decision never has been spoken not with words but through actions–a journey through the other’s brain, cracking it open and blue stained memories spilling out, their bodies pushed against walls, pressed against each other, drowning out every noise with urgent kisses. Newton had kissed him, their lips brushed together and the lingering drift connection crackled like exposed wires, Hermann could taste the memories of longing, echoing back and forth, an endless cycle until their lips broke apart.

It made sense–They had been together stuck in a lab for years–grown dependent on one another, became used to seeing each other daily, used to each other’s bad habits. The drift left them restless whenever they weren’t at each other’s sides, tugging the red string that tied them together, that circled their eyes. The simple solution was to stick together, not out of obligation, but out of want–desire.

They had showered together the first night they saved the world. Wordlessly followed each other back to Hermann’s quarters, stepping inside the warm water and leaning heavily against each other as they wash off the grime, dirt, and blood that clung to their bodies until their skin was scrubbed pink. It became something of a new habit– showering together (Newton claims it’s good for the environment, that they’re saving water otherwise saving the world is moot if they’re not going to preserve it.

“I think we deserve to waste a little,” Hermann argues but he’s smiling.)

Newton had to install a rail in their current shower–make it more accessible for him–there’s a chair for Hermann to sit on the bad days. He sits in it now, stretching his aching leg out in front of him, water pouring down onto him. He’s more focused on Newton, distracted by the sight of his damp skin than he is over hygiene at the moment.  Newton’s hair falls flat, sticking to his forehead, and he pushes it back absently, turning around under the spray. Hermann watches Newton’s thick fingers, running through his wet hair and slicking it back. His shoulders relax as water trickle over his body, down his back. Hermann couldn’t resist but to admire the view–tattooed flesh glistening wet, kaiju moving minutely as his shoulder blades shift, arms raised as he sweeps his hands over his head again, fingers working the shampoo in.

There’s a softness to him. The war had hardened the edges of Newt’s body, not entirely, but just enough for Hermann to mourn. Now his body had softened once more. Extra skin hangs, rolls of it on his back, his belly spills over jeans–even though his jeans has always been tight–his waist saddled with love handles (ones that Hermann can’t ignore, ones that he had gripped during lovemaking, squeezed with his pale long fingers.) Newton turns again facing him now and Hermann softly exhales.

“Beautiful.” He breathes out.

Newton flushes, ducking his head with a smile, blushing down to his inked chest where it hides beneath monsters and swirling colors.

He was beautiful. Anyone could see that with Newt’s soft chubby thighs that touched in the middle, rubbed against the other. Flaccid thick cock hanging between his legs, nestled in dark hair.

“Come here.”

“Did you wash your hair?”

“No.” Hermann admits before repeating, patting his slicked thigh, “Come Here.”

Newt hesitates for a moment, uncertain (He always is before sitting on Hermann’s lap, afraid of his weight, of being too heavy which Hermann thinks is utter nonsense and tells him exactly so.) He straddles him carefully, always mindful of Hermann’s injured leg, shifting his weight and curling his around Hermann’s shoulders.

“Hi,” Newt whispers loud enough for Hermann to hear over the sound of water. He leans in quickly, pecking him on the mouth.

“Hello.”

Hermann’s hands wander as they always do when Newt’s in his lap. Palm pressing firmly against the slope of his spine, down where it dips and kneads his ass. Newt’s breath hitches, moan softly as Hermann continues. His hands slip away much to Newton’s disappointment, trailing upwards, around his soft middle and squeezing. He leans forward, kissing Newton’s shoulder. “I love you.”

Newt smiles, kissing the top of Hermann’s head, “I love you too.”

Hermann groans, holding him tighter until their chests are pressed together, “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

Newt blushes again, ducking down to meet Hermann’s mouth, kissing him slowly. Softly.

“I’m going to wash your hair.” Newt declares, mumbles it against Hermann’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/183436336395/newmann-showering-together-hermann-worshiping


	20. Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Things you said when I wasn't paying attention

Newton has been trying to get Hermann’s attention for  _years_. It sounds like an exaggeration (everything about Newt is one. He’s loud and bold and excessive from his scratchy voice to his bright inked skin) but it’s  _true_. Newton doesn’t have a one-track mind either. He picks and drops things as soon as he grows bored with it. Tinkers just enough to sate his curiosity before he moves onto the next thing. Sometimes he loses focus before that, works on multiple things all at once. **  
**

Hermann stays on track like a record in his brain. It loops and repeats. Sometimes faint–just in the background–but always there. Always on his mind. He has been striving for Hermann’s attention since the beginning, ever since the first letter: _Dear Dr. Gottlieb, you don’t know me but I’m a professor at MIT–_

Hermann’s attention had been captured for three long years of correspondence and then vanished, just like that, in Stockholm. The worst day of Newton’s life (which is something considering that monsters rose from the ocean and the world’s ending).

Newt has a loose grasp on it now whether wanted or not, it’s slippery like kaiju fluids soaking his gloves. Sometimes he has Hermann’s full attention–usually during arguments, fighting over something (which is most of the time if Newt’s being truthful) other times it’s like Newton doesn’t exist. Not when there’s a piece of chalk between Hermann’s fingers. Numbers. Equations. That’s Hermann’s sole focus. His fixed point and everything else fades in the background.

He knows Hermann’s not listening. Not when he’s standing in front of his chalkboard like some knight wielding a sword on a battlefield. This  _was_ Hermann’s battlefield–this was how they fought monsters, not with giant robots but with science, tests, chalk, and scalpels.

He speaks because he  _knows_ Hermann’s not paying any attention. He knows that his voice is background noise to him, that he’s used to hearing Newton’s voice in the lab while they work from his constant off-key singing or recording his experimental findings.

There’s comfort in it. It’s easy to say this when he knows for certain Hermann isn’t paying attention. It falls from his tongue effortless, words he’d stumble over and swallow back down if Hermann was listening.

“I miss you.” He starts quietly, making sure that Hermann was, in fact, not listening before he continues, “I miss how it was, how we were.

“There are so many things I want to tell you. So many regrets about…Stockholm, about what happened. I fucked up and ruined things between us and–and I’m sorry, Hermann.”

Hermann pauses. His posture stiffens, shoulders going rigid and tense, the nub of chalk between his fingers stilling, hovering over the blackboard. Newt freezes, bites his tongue before any more admissions slip from his mouth, his heart pounds in his chest, echos loudly in his ear. He fears for the worst. Had Hermann heard? Had Newt managed to fuck it up even more–talking about the one thing they refused to discuss, to even acknowledge like it’s been stamped under classified and covered in black marker– until it’s forgotten about.

He hums quietly as he erases a number and replace it with another, quickly relaxing once more and Newt exhales, not realizing he had even been holding his breath.

Hermann turns around, “Were you saying something?”

“No,” Newt lies, shaking his head and holds up his recorder, “Just taking notes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/183460921475/23-make-your-own-things-you-said-when-i-wasnt


	21. hope

_he is hopeful._

_clutching the letter in his fist–he doesn’t mean to wrinkle it–he doesn’t even realize he’s gripping the paper instead of his cane in a firm grasp._

_today he is meeting dr. geiszler. his penpal–his something…_

_he has replayed this scenario over in his head on repeat. counted the possibilities, followed the tiny branches and trace them in his mind. what could happen when he is finally face to face with newton geiszler in the flesh._

* * *

_he is hopeful._

_the kaiju has been stopped. the precursors have been defeated. the war is over._

_his skin tingles. heart pounds as newt turns to him. he stares for a mere second before he’s pulling hermann closer. closer than ever before._

_hermann thinks of the future–their future–together._

* * *

_he is hopeful._

_newton is coming today._

_he inhales, trying to will his nerves into order, but his breath hitches. he is flooded with adrenaline and excitement and anxiety._

_this will be the day newton will return to him._

_his hands tremble as he reads over his notes–the thing that will impress newton–the experiment he has been working on, stuck on, and with newton’s curiosity he will be impressed. he will want to help. he will stay._

* * *

_he is hopeful._

_they’re letting him visit today. the treatment is working–slowly ridding his newt free of the precursors._

_the pons helmet feels heavy as he shifts, adjusts it, before turning to face his love directly. newton smiles, eyes almost as bright as before. he reaches for newt’s hand. squeezes._

_he does not plan on ever letting go again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/183499485010/he-is-hopeful-clutching-the-letter-in-his


	22. wind

A soft breeze blows, sweeping through the air and stirring life. It lifts the ends of Newton’s greying hair. It pushes the wind chimes together, ringing along with the whistle of the wind. In the distance, Hermann watches as cattails sway around the small pond.

For a second, everything moves–blades of grass, petals around the flowerbed, branches from the willow tree, pages from a book Hermann holds in his hand. He pins the pages in place, forcing them down with his thumb, keeping them from flying toward the end. He’s not ready for that just yet.

The wind nudges, propelling the swing forward and backward–Newton’s bare feet drags with it, toes barely reaching the ground. Hermann smiles at his painted toenails.

Newton’s head is heavy, resting atop his shoulder. He moves just like the breeze, shifting–restless–his stubble tickles, rubs against Hermann’s skin, against his neck with every movement he makes.

Newton tilts his head, big hazel eyes gazing upward at him. Newt doesn’t speak but Hermann hears the words anyways: _please, keep going._  The words are carried through the drift untouched by the wind.

Then all at once, everything stills–as if they weren’t moving in the first place. The swing slows, the grass and flowers settle in place, the pages unmoving beneath Hermann’s long fingers.

Hermann clears his throat and continues to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reblog here: http://newts-geiszler.tumblr.com/post/184068619605/a-soft-breeze-blows-sweeping-through-the-air-and


	23. stockings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: idk this could be a request if u want but uhh newt in a garter belt and stockings.. the garters pinching his supple skin lightly and his thighs spilling out of the stockings ...but the catch is he's just relaxing on the couch eating snacks and hermann walks in and he just about bursts into tears.

Coming home to unsuspecting sights was not exactly unusual for the Gottlieb-Geiszler household.

Newton has always been unpredictable–The one thing Hermann hasn’t ever been able to calculate, the one thing his numbers always failed him on–predicting Newton Geiszler.

His mind spins, races, jumping from thought to thought and despite how long Hermann has been acquainted with Newton (through the letters, during the war, even after melding brains and sharing thoughts for fleeting and absolutely terrifying moments during the drift) he could never guess where Newton might land. Newton always surprises him.

He should come to expect this–coming home and discovering his husband in strange predicaments (the time Newt had locked himself in their bathroom, distractedly played on his phone until Hermann found him) or far more common–Newton walking around scantily dressed (Hermann has found him once walking around their home in just a lab coat–not his own but  _Hermann’s_ –and nothing else).

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. It really shouldn’t.

Regardless, Hermann’s not expecting to find his husband sprawled out their sofa, sheer black stockings clinging to his legs. The material appears rather strained, stretching around Newton’s chubby thighs, practically spilling out of the stockings.

Hermann wants to touch them, feel the silk fabric between his fingertips, trace along Newton’s stocking-clad legs, caressing the supple skin that hangs over his garter belt and matching black lace panties.

It’s a lovely sight. An extraordinary one. Hermann is barely able to tear his eyes away from Newt’s faded inked skin that seems almost brighter against the dark lingerie to Newton’s head tossed backward, mouth wide open as he dangles a– _a Cheeto puff_ –between his fingers before dropping the snack against his orange-tinted tongue and chewing noisily.

“What–” Hermann clears his throat. “What are you  _doing?_ ”

Newton shrugs, “Eating.”

“Yes, I see that but why–”

“Cause I got hungry, dude.” Newt tilts his head further back this time, tossing another one into his mouth. “Why else?”

“Why are–You didn’t let me finish my question–Why are you wearing  _that?_ ”

“Oh,” Newton snaps his head up, glancing down at his legs as if he had forgotten what he was wearing. He gazes back up at Hermann, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth where orange dust from the Cheetos seems to linger. He waggles his eyebrows, “You like what you see, big guy?”

Newton moves his arms–but Hermann is faster, catching his wrist before Newton slaps a palm against his thigh and while Hermann knows what would have resulted: his soft thighs jiggling from the smack–an irresistible, gorgeous sight—Newton’s fingertips are also coated with a thick layer of cheddar. He doesn’t want the beautiful black lace to be stained before he had a chance to fully admire Newton in it.

“Be careful, love,” Hermann warns.

Newton blinks, mumbles out an,  _“Oh”_   under his breath before his eyes light up with something akin to mischief. He smiles innocently, wiggles his fingers towards him, his wrist still held in Hermann’s light grip, “Wanna taste?” 


	24. hands

_there are marks along his throat. dark, violet bruises in shape of hands, of fingertips. hands that hermann knows intimately, has gripped, clapped together with his own, entwined his fingers with._

_strong, sturdy hands he has watched, admired from afar. always steady, never shaking, gripping a scalpel tight. callused and rough. used._

_hermann knows these hands. dreamt about them before. dreams of rough hands caressing against his skin, gentle touches despite everything, despite the screaming matches and hateful words._

_the weight of them is familiar, but not around his throat, not crushing his windpipe, cutting off his air._

_newton’s afraid. frighten of the never-ending death toll. of losing control. of his hands that he was once so proud of. he doesn’t trust himself anymore._

_his hand trembles as he reaches for him. hovering above a pale neck, faded yellow bruises wrapped around the base of it that makes newton hesitate._

_“i trust you,” hermann whispers. reminds._

_his hand descends, carefully, slowly, unsure, just the fingertips– nothing else–anything else feels too much. his touches are featherlight, fingers barely skimming over hermann’s throat._

_there’s no static echoing in his mind anymore–no precursors influence interfering–but it seems loud as he touches hermann’s neck, nothing except his own guilt and the lingering ghost drift of hermann’s pain for ten years spent alone._

_he feels as if he might drown in it._

_newt shivers as hands reach out, the same slow, tentative touch sliding over his own. both hands cupping his, steadying his thoughts, drawing his attention back to his lover beneath him._

_his touches are gentle. intimate. hermann’s fingertips caressing his thumb. rubbing along his knuckles. such tenderness for the hands that nearly strangled him._

_“i love you.” newt chokes out. eyes wet with unshed tears._

_hermann smiles, guides the hand hovering above his throat with ease, bringing it upwards to his mouth, pressing a sweet kiss against his palm. “i love you too.”_


	25. 1 am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: things you said at one am

There’s an orange glow coming from the street lamps. It saturates the sidewalks, splashing over their beat-up little beetle (it’s Newton’s. A small vehicle fit for a man with Newt’s short stature–much too small for Hermann’s slightly longer legs. He squeezes into the space despite the awkward fit.The top of his knees almost brushing against dashboard) the light spills into the windows through the barest crack–Newton forgot to roll up the window on the driver’s side, he always forgets to when he’s behind the wheel (something rare–Hermann prefers to drive even if Newton complains and backseat drive while sitting in the passenger seat the entire time).

It pours over them in a familiar way, one that Hermann’s used to. Only it’s not orange hues. It’s a sickeningly yellow–a dull glow that leaves Hermann nauseated to his stomach if he stares at it for too long. It colors the floor of the lab whenever they flip the light switch off after scalpels and chalk has been put away, finishing work for the night and going their separate ways (Newt hovers outside his door, waiting for something, staring at Hermann like he wants to speak and Hermann waits for him to open his mouth, hopeful for an invitation inside. Newton does speak, but only to wish Hermann goodnight.) Hermann’s afraid of it. As if the glass might shatter and the damaged kaiju brain will fall against the floor with a loud echoing slap–twitching–alive. Maybe they might drown in the formaldehyde.

The car’s parked to the side of the road. Hermann’s gripping the steering wheel tight until his knuckles pale. It was meant to be a short trip into the city, a quick drive to drain the constant adrenaline that lingers–keeps them awake at such hours and pushes them to keep going–the world was ending after all.

“You drive too fast,” Newton repeats the complaint he said ten minutes ago. “I don’t know why I let you drive. Kaiju aren’t gonna wipe us out, your driving is gonna kill us.”

Hermann contemplates this, allowing silence between them to stretch for a couple minutes. It’s not completely quiet–the soft drum of rain hitting the windows, the windshield wiper squeaks every time it lifts–smearing the colors gathered in raindrops briefly before it washes away.

“Sometimes I wonder…” Hermann starts, pauses at the confession that lies on the tip of his tongue. He hesitates at the truth–would Newton understand? He would–he must–of course, he’s the only one who would–the only one who ever had understood Hermann.

Newton’s watching him, curious, “You wonder–?”

“Sometimes–” He clears his throat, restarts, “Sometimes I wonder if it would be for the best.”

Newton doesn’t say a word. Hermann can feel the weight his heavy stare though, it’s piercing as if it’s going right through him. Newton stays silent and Hermann knows–he’s certain Newton understands–he knows the same thought has occurred to Newton before.

“Sometimes I–I try not to think about it, but I crunched the numbers, Newton. Repeatedly, in fact, to make sure.”

“How long do we have?” Newton asks, thin bleak voice. It’s void of anything bright–anything that sounds like the biologist. There’s no despair, no tremble, but acceptance.

Hermann shakes his head, “A year, perhaps two, but they won’t stop, Newton. They’re not going to stop.”

It falls silent once more. Neither one utters a word as it sinks in. Their fate has been decided with crooked white numbers on a chalkboard.

He feels hopeless.

Maybe that’s why the next words slip out of his mouth. A confession he has never spoken of, much too embarrassed to even confide to his closest sibling.

“I’ve never been kissed,” Hermann reveals and Newt whips his head around to stare at him from the passenger seat.

“What.” Newton blinks. A slow flutter of his eyelashes. His face is unmoving, except for the bright headlights from passing cars that slide over his eyes, washing it with light before slipping back to the shadows–Hermann can’t make out his expression.

“Don’t laugh. Please don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” Newt promises.

Hermann tears his eyes away from the steering wheel, loosens his white-knuckled grip, finally meeting Newton’s stare. “I worry that the world will end…will end and I’ll never be kissed.”

Newt’s eyes darts to Hermann’s mouth briefly–so fast that Hermann thinks he might have imagined it–perhaps he’s dreaming–perhaps he did fall asleep still at the Shatterdome, maybe at his desk in their lab–maybe he’ll awake to loud music blaring from Newton’s speakers.

Newton’s face hides in the shadows–unreadable–until he leans forward in his seat, enough for his glasses to glint in the orange light. Hermann can’t help but follow the movement, inches closer until Newton’s warm breath is caressing his mouth.

They remain still–hesitating–almost as if they’re afraid to disturb the air–disrupting molecules and atoms.

And then it happens–Newton smiles at him before closing the distance–meeting him halfway.


	26. after the war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: things you said after it was over

Newt has never seen so many drunk people in his life. As soon as the new acting Marshall had shouted the words,  _“Stop the clock.”_   The alcohol started flowing. Red plastic cups being filled to the brim, champagne bottles being opened–pop!–the cork flying off in some direction. Tendo and a few pilots had even come back from the kitchen carrying a cooler on their shoulders, filled with ice and beer and wine coolers.

 _Did they have that this entire time_ , Newt ponders, _stocked, ready to go for this very moment?_

Probably not. Although it wouldn’t be uncommon for people to hide their hordes of alcohol around the shatterdome, even Newt has some really terrible vodka stashed somewhere in their lab, but he never thought of it as a celebratory drink. It was there for the difficult times–the  _really_ bad nights–the ones where his funding gets cut, where Newton loses his way, doubts his purpose– _their_ purpose–the point to everything, to bother with defenses against the onslaught of the magnificent beasts, where he couldn’t understand why any of them are still here, still fighting.

Of course–there was plenty enough reason to celebrate–they had after all just won a war, canceling an apocalypse with an alien race is something that doesn’t just happen every day.

He’s not celebrating though, that is to say, he’s not drinking. He was happy, of course, Newton Geiszler was happy. He would have been working for the wrong group of people for the last several years if he weren’t pleased that the kaiju or rather the precursors–the real masterminds behind this invasion attempt–were finally defeated for once and all. Hell, Hermann had touched him, had wanted to be touched by him, completely forgot his no PDA rule and scooted closer to Newton, staring at him with those big brown eyes, silently asking for a  _hug_. He should be fucking ecstatic.

But.

 _But_.

All his work is gone. His profession is extinct. Literally. Gone from this planet and hope never to return. He has spent most of his life studying the kaiju, found his soulmate (even though Hermann doesn’t quite agree with that statement) through them–because of them, poke and stabbed his skin with needles, forever branding the giant monsters onto his epidermis and now– _now_ –he’s unsure where his future lies.

His work hadn’t completely dried up, not completely. No, there was still work to be done, still, samples stored in freezers that could be hacked and cut into and studied but only if there’s still interest and if the bureaucrat assholes don’t shut down the K-Science Division immediately and evict them on the spot.

No, Newton knows those types. The white dudes in the dull suits with thick ties and wrinkles coating their faces that run deep and make it appear that they’re scowling always displeased over something. The ones that gave up on them a long time ago–that thought the kaiju could be contained with a stupid wall–like Hermann’s father.

Newt bets they will have two weeks max,  _maybe_ , to get their paperwork in order, samples dissolved or burn, their belongings packed and shipped out.

He kinda hates it.

The truth of the matter was that this shatterdome, their lab,  _Hermann_ had become his home. The one place he felt, for the first time, where he actually belonged. Where he was needed.

It’s selfish, Newton knows that, to wish for a stalemate, where neither side would ever win, where Newton and Hermann would be tucked away in their lab for the rest of their days, solving an impossible problem. Hermann at his chalkboard with chalk on his face, yelling at Newt for making a mess, for throwing entails over to his side. Endless working that amounted to nothing, but they would be together.

He doesn’t know what to do now. (He has hopes, desires for a particular future with a mathematician, but he won’t admit that, not out loud at least.) Where is he going to work? (There will job offers. There are offers even now still in his inbox from universities wanting to employ the famous Dr. Newton Geiszler.) Where is he going to live? (He’ll always have a home in Boston with his father and uncle.) He doesn’t know which direction to take–he wants to follow Hermann–but Newt knows that this is not a feasible option.

He should leave, Newt thinks. He could escape to their lab, no one would notice, no one is paying attention–rightfully so–and squeeze in as many experiments he can, his last chance to study the one thing he has been so passionate about. The irony doesn’t escape him–leaving a party where before Newton would be clamoring for any excuse to stay at one. This has to be a side effect from drifting with a walking sweater vest (even though Newton would marry that sweater vest in a heartbeat if he could).

Newt gets two steps in towards the direction of the elevator before someone is slinging their arm around his shoulders. He forces a smile, “Ha, okay, alright, buddy.” and goes to shrug the drunken off until he realizes just who is pressed against his side.

He discovers two things: the first being that Hermann is a lightweight–a major lightweight–Newt wonders just how many drinks Hermann have had to already be  _this_ drunk. His best guesstimate is two drinks. Two very strong drinks, maybe. And secondly that Hermann Gottlieb–who only belief is in the numbers (and secretly the stars that Newton pretends he doesn’t know about, something Hermann had mentioned from one of his letters) and being professional at All Times (which means absolutely no touching, especially no affectionate public gestures)–was a very handsy drunk.

 _“Hermann?”_ Newt squeaks.

Hermann doesn’t notice his shock, instead just smiles at Newton widely, all teeth showing and laughter lines. He didn’t even know Hermann have laughter lines.

“Newton!” He joyfully shouts before correcting himself, “Newt!” emphasizing the nickname with a boop to Newt’s nose.

Did he die the first time he drifted with the damaged kaiju brain? Was he hallucinating this, Hermann Gottlieb smiling at him happily boozed up and bopping his nose? Newton pinches himself. Nope. He wasn’t dreaming.

Newton also notices that Hermann had lost some clothes: his blazer and sweater vest was gone, he was just wearing a plain button-up that he usually sported under his sweater vest (Newt’s certain that he’s wearing yet another layer underneath.) The sleeves have been messily cuffed and rolled up to his elbows– uneven–one sleeve hanging a bit lower than the other. His thin pale wrists fully revealed and Newton oh so desperately wants to tease him, but there were much more important matters to address first.

“Where the  _hell_ is your cane?!”

Hermann blinks, glancing down to his hand that’s usually gripping a cane as if he’s just now realizing that it’s missing. “Oh, dear.”

It certainly explains why Hermann had tucked himself under Newt’s arm and was heavily leaning against him. Must be too drunk to feel any discomfort from forgoing the cane. Newton knows Hermann doesn’t need it all the time, that he could go without if he’s having–what Hermann calls– a Good Leg Day. Still, Newton’s concerned. Hermann might feel fine  _right now_ , but he won’t in the morning, suffering from a nasty hangover  _and_ pain from overusing his leg.

“I must–I must have misplaced it, I’m afraid.”

He didn’t, it turns out, instead, Newt looks up into the crowd and sees two rangers twirling it into the air.  _Assholes_. Newt’s more than a little annoyed. He’s pissed. He gets the excitement over saving the world, he understands that people aren’t thinking clearly right at the moment, but  _still_. There’s no fucking excuse to steal a man’s cane. (He learns later that Hermann was the one to offer it away and  have to apologize for the chewing out he gave the rangers).

“Stay here,” Newt tells him, placing his hands on top of Hermann’s shoulders, gently easing him down into a chair. “Stay right here and don’t move, okay?”

Hermann gazes up at him, listening to Newton intently–this is a first. Hermann has, after spending  _years_ with Newton, learned to drown Newt’s loud music and his equally loud voice out. He doesn’t pay attention to him like this. He nods seriously, quickly, several times in a row as if Newton has given him a mission he always longed for.

Hermann’s a very cute drunk, folding his hands in his lap, as Newt leaves him to yell at rangers two times his size. Hermann’s worth any fight or black eyes he might get. He always is.

It doesn’t devolve into a fist fight, it doesn’t even take much other than Newton glaring and snapping at them to hand over the cane. They’re drunk and don’t second guess why a tiny man with a shrill voice is screaming at them. He doesn’t much care what they think. He got what he’s after.

Hermann’s still in the same place where Newt left him, thankfully, but another article of clothing has vanished. This time his Oxfords. He doesn’t even bother asking where they’ve gone, Hermann probably kicked them off somewhere while waiting for him. Newton will look for them tomorrow though. Newton tries not to get distracted about how endearing the sight of Hermann is in his socks–and  _sock garters_ —wiggling his toes (the joints crack each time Hermann curls them, Newton even finds that cute.)

“C’mon, big guy,” Newt tears his eyes away from Hermann’s navy blue patterned socks (little clusters of stars), helping the physicist to his feet. He needs to get Hermann back to his quarters before he winds up naked in front of all his coworkers and as amusing as that would be–Hermann would be mortified at his behavior tomorrow if he even remembers.

Navigating a drunk Hermann is not without its challenges–one being that Hermann  _clings_ to his side, almost as if he glued himself to Newton. He’s rather heavy too, but Newton doesn’t mind that all too much. It  _is_ difficult to get Hermann to stay focus–not to wander off or dropping his cane which means Newton’s doubling back to pick it up. So Newton does what anyone would do in this case: he picks Hermann up and carries him the remaining way.

Hermann does not squawk in protest the way Newt’s expecting him to. No, Hermann  _beams_ as Newton swings him up into his arms. He giggles, easily throwing his arms around Newt’s neck and resting his head against Newt’s shoulder likes it meant to be there. He murmurs something that Newton doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“You’re–you’re very strong.” Hermann declares much louder, reaching up and tucking Newt’s hair behind one of his ears. Newt blushes at the way Hermann’s fingertips stay there, repeatedly brushing the lock of hair into place. One could call it stroking at this point. “Oh, uh–thanks.”

“Very strong and–and handsome.”

Newton feels his face heat up even more, “You think I’m handsome?”

“Extremely handsome. The most handsomest.”

Newt laughs. Hermann’s really drunk if he’s complimenting him. “I don’t think that’s a word, bud.”

“It is!” Hermann’s voice raises higher and breaks a little which makes Newt smiles.  _Cute_. “I’m always, always right, Newton…Newt…you should–should always listen to me.”

“Is that so?”

“I was  _corrrrrect_ about the kaijus.” Even inebriated, Hermann still rolls his rs. “All three of them.”

“Kaiju.”

Hermann hiccups, “That’s what I said, kaijus.”

Newton knows to argue with him over pronunciation is a moot point, he decides to lets this go for the moment, argue with Hermann when he’s sober. The rest of the walk is awkward, trying to carry a full grown man–a taller man–and a cane without dropping it is hard, especially when Hermann doesn’t want to let go of Newt when they reach Hermann’s door.

“Just for a second, Herms, I gotta unlock the door, then I’ll carry you in, how’s that?” Hermann pauses for a moment, before nodding, satisfied enough with this and finally loosens his grip around Newt’s neck.

Hermann’s eager to get back into his arms once Newt gets the door open. He carries Hermann over the threshold, something he has dreamt about for a very long time–only he hadn’t quite pictured it like this. Regardless, he gently lays the drunk mathematician across the soft covers and for a second, Newt thinks that Hermann doesn’t plan on letting go, his arms still wrapped around Newt’s shoulders.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” Newton smiles, “can you let go?”

“I’d rather not.” Hermann starts tugging him closer and Newt quickly catches himself, palms flat against the mattress, hovering above Hermann. “I like having you this close. You’re never this close. I think I’ll keep you here.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do!”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, that is–that is incorrect. I’ve never been drunk in my entire life.”

Newton snorts, “Alright, but I need to shut your door, it’s wide open, anyone could see us.” Newton stops, a drunk Hermann probably doesn’t care about that. He tries again, “You’ll get cold if we keep it open, the draft.”

“I suppose,” Hermann sighs, but obliges, releasing him but before Newton could fully move away, Hermann snatches his wrist–quick reflexes that Newton thought a drunk man couldn’t have. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”

“I’ll be right back,” Newt promises, he intends to stay regardless, sleep in Hermann’s soft rocking chair across from the bed, wants to make sure Hermann sleeps soundly without incident throughout the night.

“Thank you, Newton–Newt–I love you.” Hermann leans up, giving him a quick kiss and it would not have made for a great first kiss, he misses his mark by a considerable amount–pecking Newton’s stubbled jaw instead of his mouth.

Newton freezes, but Hermann just smiles and releases him once more. He doesn’t seem to realize what he just confessed and lies back against the pillows, eyes drooping shut.

“I love you, too.” Newt whispers, fingertips hovering over his jaw where Hermann kissed, still reeling from it.

He wonders if Hermann will remember his words come morning. Newt hopes so.


End file.
